


Hearing Myself (And You) Think

by VeryLateTrash



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Chaptered, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-29 16:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15732909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryLateTrash/pseuds/VeryLateTrash
Summary: In which Clint doesn't know whether to grieve for or hate Loki. The Asgardian (?) is dead and he should be comforting Thor, but he doesn't know if he's up to it. Several problems ensue. Like...how do you grieve for the dead...of they're actually alive?





	1. Chapter 1

Clint squinted, leaning against the wall as he listened as well as he could to his colleagues. He struggled to make out some of their words, forced to rely on lip reading, which wasn't effective by any means. He ran a hand over his face, keeping it there for a moment to help him de-stress. Over a few beats, he dropped his hands back to his sides, trying to focus on what Tony and the Captain were saying to each other.

The archer watched their lips form words, catching the beginning of their sentences, but struggling when their voices got quieter toward the end. Words cut off, sentences were fragments, the message was blurry. 

"...int?" He felt a light tap on his shoulder. Touch. Much easier to get his attention with than words. He turned, seeing Natasha slightly behind him. "A-- --- okay?" That one was easy, really. The amount of her words that he could hear and the way her lips shaped made it obvious.

Clint nodded, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck, "Yeah, yeah, 'm fine. Just, y'know," he motioned to his ears.

She gave him a small hum, only lifting her chin lightly to acknowledge what he said. Her hands rested on her hips comfortably. "I'll k--- --u up--ted." 

He gave her a lopsided smile, "Thanks, Nat." She started to walk back to the table, taking a seat by Tony. "You're the best!" He called out to her in a teasing tone. She only let one side of her lips curl upward.

Clint spent the rest of that meeting standing off to the side, as the usual. 

After it was over and Natasha informed him of what had been said, (or at least a decent summary of it), Clint gave her a light, one-armed hug and made his way downstairs. He let out a deep breath of sorts, exiting the tower.

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. (He liked to dress casually as often as he could. Made him feel more comfortable. More...like himself. Before he was an Avenger.)

Clint found himself in a darker, less well-known part of the city. He smiled to himself just a bit, walking into the apartment building. He yawned a bit, fumbling with his keys once he got to his little apartment. "Pbbt, you're doin' great, Barton," he muttered to himself when he finally got inside.

He made his way to the couch, lying face down on it. He groaned, reaching out to one side of his couch for the pillow lying on it. He stretched his arm just a biiiit further and-ey! There it was. Clint tucked the pillow below his head, resting his eyes as he turned over what he'd been told.

Thor's brother, the one that had led the attack on New York, was dead. Was it Dark Elves? Clint couldn't remember exactly what Natasha had told him. Simply that Loki was dead, and that they were to let Thor rest for some time. Obviously. Yeah, Clint wasn't exactly Loki's biggest fan, but jeez, the guy died doing good and deserved to be grieved over like anyone else.

He sighed, burying his face in his pillow. He was just glad that Thor wasn't asking for them to go to a funeral. There was a sharp twisting in his gut at that, but he couldn't help not wanting to go to that. His head ached just hearing the sorcerer's name. Clint knew he shouldn't be caught up on the things that occurred back then. He knew that there's really nothing to be afraid of. Now that Loki's dead. 

He knew that. And that's why he felt so awful about this. He was struggling to find sympathy for Thor, grief for Loki, and closure for himself. Clint sighed, letting his eyes close slowly. It was simply easier to sleep than to think about it. He wanted to get over this so desperately, but he didn't want to focus on it.

Sleep was easier. 

It was sort of funny in a dry way. Usually Clint avoided sleeping all that much. There'd be days on end where he didn't sleep at all, always keeping himself busy by doing something - most of the time that was relieving stress by practicing archery. Pull it taut, focus on your target, relax your muscles, then let go. Repetitive, calming, the only time his head was really clear. 

He could never figure out which end of the spectrum was worse. When he didn't sleep at all, or when he couldn't pull himself out of bed. When all of the emotions he'd bottled up became too much, taking such a toll on his body that he didn't want to move. That moving hurt. 

He needed sleep. He wanted sleep. Sleep would be-would be great at the moment. Just sleep and forget about it all. Clint could just slip into a dreamless sleep and forget about Loki's passing, forget about possessed, forget about attacking his friends and the horrible weight on his shoulders at knowing someone else got into his head, knew his secrets. He could forget about not feeling grief.

He just...He wanted to forget. 

Bwah. Barton, you're being ridiculous, he told himself. He needed sleep, sure, but 'cause he had training in the morning. 'Cause Natasha would kick his ass if he missed out on sleep again. 'Cause...'Cause he needed to function on something other than a full pot of unsweetened coffee. 'Cause he was an Avenger, dammit, and wallowing in his own self-pity was intolerable.

Clint forced himself to sleep, his face buried in a throw pillow, torso pressed into the couch and his legs tossed over the arm of it. 

His sleep was dreamless; it always was. There was something comforting about the blank, white scape of his dreams. It was as if he just didn't have to think for a few hours. Like he could just forget all of his worries and fears and just...exist. 

It was nice, really, the emptiness of the situation. He didn't feel anything. Didn't have to feel anything. Could just exist without the necessity of feeling anything. And he liked it. He did.

"My hawk." 

In his sleep, Clint furrowed his brows. Weird. He didn't usually hear anything when he slept. As damaged as his hearing was, it was practically non-existent in his dreams. The blankness didn't call for sound, he supposed. 

He woke with a start, those two words oddly sticking out to him. As if he'd actually heard them in his waking hours rather than in his dreams. He sighed, shaking his head, then sitting up on his couch. Clint groaned at the pain in his spine from sleeping like that all night. "I swear, humans have such sucky spines. Like a damn horse or somethin'." 

Clint yawned, tightening his lips a bit when those words were repeated in his thoughts. He shivered. "God, I haven't heard that shit since..." He cut himself off, "Dammit, Barton, stop bein' stupid. He's gone." He clenched his jaw, "He's gone."

The guilt struck him again.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint yawned, pulling himself out of bed after a good thirty minutes of laying completely still on the couch. Hearing those words said to him, ("my hawk"), brought within him an immediate flight response, but he knew he had to fight that. If something, if Loki, were here, then he needed to be careful. He kept a bow and a few arrows underneath his couch for situations just like this, and he knew he could get to them quietly if he were given the time.

He felt a presence pass by him, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making any noise. His breathing was slow, measured. If someone had broken in, then any sound on his part could very well be his death. Clint Barton intended to live to see his friends that next day. If only for them, he'd live.

"I already know you're there, my hawk." What? Clint squinted. Why could he hear that so well? It was Loki's voice; he could tell that from a mile away, but...why could he? He shouldn't be able to hear him as clearly as he did. He couldn't even hear Natasha all that well when she was but a foot in front of him.

He let out a breath, and sat up, his bow already drawn, pointed to where he'd heard the voice. Loosen your muscles, keep your bow steady, slow breaths, release the tension and-A flash of green and the arrow was gone. 

Clint drew another quickly, brows furrowed as he slowly stood from his couch to walk the perimeter of the room. He'd find Loki and when he did...Thor would see that his brother didn't die from a dark elf, after all. But from an arrow in his neck.

A hand on his shoulder. Clint froze, the fingers sliding, (gently?), over his throat. He lowered his bow, seeing it to be useless in such a close range. He expected for the hand around his neck to start pressing in, closing out his airway until he was forced to give away information, but it never happened. The fingers were simply there, cold and soft, uncalloused. 

"Barton," that voice spoke as if in his mind, which-wait. Was that why Clint could hear him so well? Was Loki in his mind again? Would he take him over again? He kept his breathing steady, refusing to allow his past abuser to see his unease. "Barton, my hawk, surely you're afraid. I can feel it. Truly, there's no reason to be now, though I can see why you'd think there would be. This," his long fingers rubbed a bit at Clint's neck, "This is simply a formality to keep you in check. I don't want an arrow to be my cause of death."

Loki was speaking directly in his ears, and it almost hurt. The sound was oddly close and though it was muffled, Clint could hear him. It was as if the god knew. 

He continued, "My hawk, I simply wish for a place to stay. I'm sure my idiot brother told you that I died, and while you may be curious as to why I'm here now, it's not my purpose at the moment." Clint's jaw clenched as Loki's painted nails started to drag up his throat to his chin. He hated being touched in that way, but he could feel the power in Loki's hands. Moving would mean his death.

"Really, Barton, all I'm asking for is a cover. Give me time to sort things out and I'll leave soon enough. A place to stay. I'll even clean this place up for you. I think that's quite the bargain on your end, considering you own it." Clint almost asked how he knew that before Loki scoffed, "I've been in your head. Don't act so surprised. I know everything there is to know about you and if it came to it, I could easily manipulate you into letting me stay here. Let out the word of some of your mistakes, hm?" 

Clint fell the grip get a little tighter on his jaw. He closed his eyes, "Fine. You can stay here, I don't care. I ain't gonna tell nobody that you're alive." He cringed inwardly, hating that this was happening. He could be killed at any moment. It would be so easy. But, no, no, Loki did need a place to stay. He needed somewhere to go to, and he didn't have it. Clint was his only choice. Besides, the archer could just tell Thor about Loki; he has just as much of a way to manipulate Loki as the god does him. He could survive this easily. Like a game of chess. "But you're gonna be quiet, aight? Ain't gonna hurt nobody around here, got it? If ya do, I'm tellin' your brother and everyone else that wants your head that you're alive. See how it plays out for ya, then."

For a moment, Loki went silent. Then, his grip on Clint tightened again, "You have my word, little hawk. What my word can be good for, you'll have to see." 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, god of whatever. Now let me go or I'm tellin' Thor now. I have em on speed dial, you know."

Loki scoffed again, but he released Clint, pushing him forward. Clint drew his bow, pointing the arrow between Loki's eyes. His voice was steady when he ordered, "Go up the stairs and into the first bedroom on the left." He sighed, "It's empty and the bed should already be made." 

Loki simply sent him a smile that made his stomach tighten with unease. "As you'll have it, my hawk." The god teleported away, flashing him one last sickening grin before he did so.

Afterward, Clint stored away his bow once more, dragging his hand over his face. "Well," he groaned, "Still got time to sleep for a couple of hours, I guess. He ain't gonna kill me, anyway. Yeah, yeah, he can't. Cause then he ain't gotta a place to stay and they'd be lockin' up my apartment after findin' me. Yeah, he can't kill ya, Barton. He can't." He told himself that over and over again as he laid down once more on his couch, letting himself be pulled back to sleep.


End file.
